


A romance in spit and vomit

by Lumeha



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Sick Character, Vomiting, also I guess weird descriptions of hunting, look I don't really know this was supposed to be finished a year ago, lots of vomiting and not just flowers, my depressed son needs love, no one dies bc I can't kill characters okay, not that depressing I guess but eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeha/pseuds/Lumeha
Summary: It first began while Dwyer was cooking dinner in the mess. A dry cough, itching at his throat, stopping him right in his tracks, sudden and violent, breaking his tall carcass in two. When he finally caught his breath, raspy and shallow, mouth full of he-didn’t-know what, he felt like he was losing his footing, unsure on his own two legs. He gagged and coughed again, covering his mouth as well as he could.In his hands, he caught petals, a shocking red against his pale skin.[Hanahaki AU]





	A romance in spit and vomit

**Author's Note:**

> This... was supposed to be written, more than a year ago, for the FE Rarepair Week of 2017. I only finally finished it, after it took a life of its own and became much, much longer than the original, less than 1k words that I originally planned on writing. 
> 
> The original prompt followed was "gross" and I had so, so much fun writing this hanahaki disease AU 
> 
> Enjoy !

It first began while Dwyer was cooking dinner in the mess. A dry cough, itching at his throat, stopping him right in his tracks, sudden and violent, breaking his tall carcass in two. When he finally caught his breath, raspy and shallow, mouth full of he-didn’t-know what, he felt like he was losing his footing, unsure on his own two legs. He gagged and coughed again, covering his mouth as well as he could.

In his hands, he caught petals, a shocking red against his pale skin. 

He shuddered. The petals, covered with his own saliva, were far for an agreeable sensation on his skin. He quickly got rid of them and washed his hands, cursing under his breath when he saw that he left the food unattended. It would be hard to explain to his father, if he messed up dinner for something that he couldn’t explain himself, and he felt tired. Coughing flowers… He had to put it aside for now. Maybe even… not think about it at all. It was probably the result of some weird hex or anything. He had work to finish, and naps to take, and that was the priority.

\- You alright, Dwyer ?

The sudden noise startled him and he turned his head toward the entrance of the small kitchen. Kiragi was standing there, hand on the door frame, looking at him with a curious gaze.

\- Heard you cough like you were dying.  
\- … It’s nothing. It passed.

He cringed at the sound of his voice, raspier and even more tired than usual, an almost rocky whisper. Kiragi smiled at him, relieved to hear that, and he entered the kitchen, curious to see what the butler was cooking, sniffing the air like a predator hunting a prey. A cute sight, that brought the smallest smile on Dwyer’s lips, along with a weight on his lungs. 

\- It’s almost finished.  
\- You cooked the meat I brought you, right ?  
\- Yes. Now please let me finish here. 

Kiragi gave him a big smile and nodded, leaving the kitchen. Dwyer could hear him enthusiastically greet his noble father, and in the brouhaha of the mess, he could pick the young prince’s voice amongst the crowd. Thinking back to the red petals he coughed earlier, Dwyer rubbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a pensive hum at the back of his throat, before he returned to his cooking. 

\-----

Since that first fit in the mess, he had been coughing up flowers regularly, and it was taking a toll on his body. He thought the flowers were coming from some kind of weird hex. His knowledge of the magical arts, outside of healing, was subpar, and he thought about asking Rhajat about it. But the girl was always busy, and he wasn’t sure what she would ask for in exchange for her magical expertise. The last time she asked him for his help had been… quite the experience.

He needed rest, and felt too restless to get the sleep he sought. Kiragi sometimes looked at him with… something in his gaze, an almost shadow that he had never seen before, that twisted his guts and stopped his steps in a way that nothing did before. He only ever caught it at the side of his eyes, saw it melting into a smile as soon as the prince sensed his gaze. It weighted on his lungs, at the back of his neck, choking on petals and rotting words that he had a hard time to grasp. The numb blanket of sleep and tiredness was slowly pulled out from his body, revealing sharp feelings and sensations he wanted to evade.

Under the scrutinizing gaze of their fathers, Dwyer kept looking over the prince, made sure to keep up with his duties, both as a butler and to the army, hiding the coughs and the red falling on his chin under his tiredness and the sleep escaping him. 

\----

Every time he looked at Kiragi, he felt like flowers were blooming in his lungs and guts, pinpricks of pain growing into roots strangling him from the inside. He didn’t want to avoid the prince - didn’t want to avoid the duties no one but himself asked him to do. But every time, pain slithered along his bones and in his muscles, hissing thick words decaying into his mind. 

The petals didn’t stop falling down his mouth, their sweet and rancid smell never quite leaving his skin, like rot clinging to his body. And every time, he tried to bury them back, like he would bury his own smile back when he could see the prince. Bury the feelings strangling his lungs and throat, like one buries what he doesn’t want to see and prefer to ignore, so life can go on its merry tune, even if it was tone deaf.

Poppies were rustic flowers, bringers of sleep, rough around the edges.

Perfect for a butler like him, he sometimes thought.

\----

\- Your father is worried about you.  
\- Ah… Grandfather.  
\- Do you really have to call me that.

Dwyer let out a small chuckle and opened an eye. Gunter gave him a hand to help him get back on his own two feet after his (pretty terrible) nap - the old knight wasn’t too keen on letting him lay on the ground when he wanted to discuss. Normally, Dwyer would have felt more annoyed at being woken up, but he was, for once, not sleeping, even if he was in one of his usual napping spots. His throat was itching, his lungs constricted, and he felt too tired to get up and make himself a soothing cup of tea with honey.

\- Your voice is getting weak.  
\- Well… I should make a cup of tea but… ah. You want some ?

Gunter went with him to the mess, at a leisurely pace, a picture of peace, even with his smile slashed by a scar. But Dwyer could feel the sharp pair of eyes at the back of his neck. The itch was coming back. With a painful breath, he tried to repress it, not wanting to have a coughing fit in front of the older man. 

\- You are even more slouched than usual.  
\- Father asked you to check if I am being a decent enough butler for his tastes ? the younger man spat.  
\- We are worried about your health.

Dwyer put a hand on his throat, a sudden wave of nausea hitting him when he felt petals slowly coming up in his mouth. 

\- Are you feeling well... ?

He wanted to answer. He wanted to talk, but all he could feel was the petals, and they stopped him right in his tracks. He was trying, trying to fight the itch, trying to fight against these flowers coming and coming and coming and… 

He wasn’t sure how he ended up on his knees, retching, heart going too loud, too fast, his mouth full of red petals, falling on the ground in a disgusting chaos. Another wave of nausea hit him, and his stomach gave back everything. Gunter was holding him by the shoulders, the warmth of his hands both too much to bear and bringing him back to reality. 

A shaky laugh spilled from his lips, petals still stuck to his chin.

\- I… am not, grandfather.

\-----

The cup of tea was nice - warm, with a comforting smell slowly rising to his nose. His hands were wrapped around the cup, and he was looking down at the amber liquid, almost worried he would end up only tasting bile and petals if he tried to drink it. Making tea was a ritual he knew, written in his bones, gesture he could do and do again with his eyes closed. Letting a cup go cold was a crime, but his nerves needed it.

Gunter had helped him get to the mess, an arm under his shoulders, Dwyer’s legs somehow refusing to properly let him get up and walk like he was supposed to. There, he helped him clean up his face and his mouth, with a softness the young man felt he had not seen since he was a child, when he was left behind for his security, with rare visits from his family. A time before his voice and relationship with his father were strained.

\- Are you feeling a bit better ?  
\- I am the healthiest member of the army.

The look Gunter sent him, weary with a touch of light amusement, just made him shrug. A sip of tea soothed his sore throat, not overpowering enough to mask the lingering taste in his mouth, a disgusting blend of sweet harshness on his tongue. 

\- You are coughing up poppies.  
\- Everyone does it at some point in their life, I guess.  
\- Did you check with anyone to find what is the problem.  
\- I don’t want to go in an epic quest to find whatever rare ingredient Rhajat wants for her knowledge. It’s tiring. And she might ask for my eyes. I tend to like them where they are.

With a low hum, the old knight acknowledged that this was, indeed, a perilous idea. 

\- There are others you could ask.  
\- I don’t know them as well as her.  
\- Maybe Lord Leo’s retainer… hm.

A thoughtful pause. Dwyer put a hand on his throat, thinking about the dramatic man under Lord Leo’s orders, clad in loud yellow and black. He mostly met him in the infirmary, and never had any chance of having a discussion with him before. There was something in his gaze that didn’t match his eccentric demeanor, that Dwyer never tried to dig into. 

\- I will take care of this. And you, young man, will take care of yourself.

\----

\- Dwyer ? I brought you some meat !

The butler opened an eye, foggy and unfocused. A silhouette was standing in the entrance of his tent, the smell of fresh meat, blood and mud on his trail, reassuring like it shouldn’t be. 

A cold shiver went down his neck. He didn’t need to focus to know what a pitiful sight he was, disheveled, lying in his own sweat and sickness, petals drenched in drool and bile around his bed, and that was surprisingly hurtful. He did all he could to look his best when taking care of the young prince - even if his way of “taking care” was probably not seen as much more than laziness on his part in the eyes of most people. And now, Kiragi was seeing him in his tent, trying to fight off an illness he didn’t understand, surrounded by a shameful mess he couldn’t fight.

\- You have... 

The prince pointed at his own chin, movement almost delicate for his loud personality.

\- Flower petals… ?

Realisation crept up on his face, from the light of his eyes to the pallor of his skin. Hasty hands helped Dwyer to get in a sitting position, their slight tremor a curious sensation against his back.

\- That’s not good, Dwyer ! Who is it ?

The butler blinked.

\- … Who ? … What are you talking about ?  
\- The person you love. Who is it.  
\- What are you talking about ?

Kiragi huffed, the childish expression a stark contrast with the white fear of his face. 

Dwyer would have answered that he didn’t understand what the other was going on about, but coughing took over his voice. The prince approached him and put a hand in his back, trying to soothe him ; but it only stopped when blooming poppies fell on his lap, the smell hitting them with its sweet horror. But Kiragi didn’t retch or gag, to the dull surprise of the butler. 

He was probably used to the disgusting scents of bodies and sickness, intimate as he was with the bodies of the animals he hunted. What was the awful mixture of drool and vomit, ensnared in the scent of flowers, next to the warm guts and organs of a deer ?

\- Hanahaki. That’s… the flower sickness. My father told me about it. 

Flower sickness. The name would almost be poetic if it wasn’t so… pragmatic, he thought, looking over the splashes of sickly red all over the floor around him. It could have meant so much more, and here he was, with petals blooming in his throat, and a name that only described what was still a mystery. 

\- I am sure there is something that can be done !  
\- You sound very sure of yourself, for someone that knows what the flower sickness means.

Sliding in the tent was Nyx. Kiragi couldn’t help a shudder - a ray of sunshine suddenly obscured by clouds, white and gloomy, fearful. But all clouds passed, and the childish huff and puff returned, with a sharp determination. 

\- I am not going to sit there and do nothing !  
\- He doesn’t even know what afflicts him. 

She went near the bed and kneeled in front of Dwyer. He felt the heavy scrutiny of her eyes, felt the way she was studying the blue and black painted on his face, the colour of his lips (too red, red like the poppies falling off his lungs), the mess of drool and disgust on his chin that he hadn’t wiped off. With a surprising tenderness, she touched his cheek and wiped his chin, in a gesture reminding him of his grandfather more than the youth she looks like. 

\- Gunter asked me to come. I will have to remove the feelings plaguing you to save your life.  
\- That’s not fair. You can’t just… not explain and do something like that ! 

She looked at Kiragi, with a look that was more tired and sick than angry. The prince kept his hand between the shoulderblades of the butler, fingers tight and drawn like his bows, refusing to back down, determination painted in his tense shoulder.

(Here comes the hunter, Dwyer thought - here comes the blood)  
(but there is no blood to be seen, just the tension and determination, and the sweetly disgusting smell of poppies)

\- You want him to die ?  
\- He didn’t even know it was related to his feelings, you take the choice of trying to tell about them from him !  
\- People don’t survive one-sided love.  
\- Well maybe in your stories, they don’t, but you can’t just…!

A noisy throat clearing caught their attention.

\- It’s nice and all but you both invited yourself here and are still not explaining anything, said Dwyer, his voice a rocky whisper. 

The two looked at each others, and with a heavy sigh, so different from her youthful face, Nyx got up, her fingers lingering on his cheeks. She was sickenly warm against his cold skin, but the touch wasn’t unwelcomed, which surprised him. 

\- Hanahaki. The flower disease. One who suffers from one-sided love…  
\- Or don’t realize they are loved back, added Kiragi.  
\- From one-sided love, Nyx resumed with a noise of annoyance and cold pessimism, grows flowers in their lungs. The flowers will kill them if they aren’t removed, removing the feelings.

Death of his mortal shell or of feelings he prefered not to think about, their roots strangling his lungs. One sacrifice was of higher price than the other, but the idea still wasn’t appealing. There was something to be said about the idea of removing his own feelings by uprooting flowers killing him slowly. Something awful, creeping like all the sacrifices asked by Rhajat ; magic couldn’t survive without a sacrifice, but the idea of plucking his own feelings out, removing their roots from his body, felt too real.

It wasn’t like simply ignoring and hoping they would go away, inconvenient but still sweet and melancholic. 

A direct action. A root for a heart, and a flower for feelings he would no longer feel. 

\- Hey, that’s not all ! The flowers will be purged if the love is returned, you forgot that !  
\- It never happened.  
\- Yes it did. My dad survived it.

That caught Nyx attention. That, or the tone, the hot determination, when Kiragi had always been the ray of sunshine, the warmth, the heart. But this was not that. This was something else. 

(desperate like the desert sun, as if he knew something that Dwyer didn’t)

\- Your father survived without getting his feelings removed ?

Her own voice was guarded. Prudent. There was no hope in her mind, no hope to flee from the flowers and the coughs, the disgusting fluids and roots strangling the lungs and throat. No hope she could believe in, always one step ahead, preparing for the worse. 

No hope in a voice that suddenly sounded rockier than it should, harsh against her throat, and he wondered about his own voice. It had already been roughed up by sleep and depression and growing up with the worse man pretending to be a father. If he survived this, how would he sound ?

\- He doesn’t… he doesn’t really like talking about it. But he did. He gave one of the flowers to my father. The last one. 

A pause, soft, the silence only broken by another coughing fit violently shaking Dwyer’s carcass. Kiragi’s hand gently drew circles between his shoulders, the prince ignoring all and any differences of ranks and birthrights that existed between them.

\- They were… sakuraso flowers. Primroses, I think, they are called in Nohr. They mean “despair”, and he was so sure father would never look at him. So he buried his feelings, and he told me this was the reason why he got ill. 

A violent shudder snaked through Dwyer’s skin, cold and clammy. 

\- But he was wrong. Father… Father is not very good at showing his feelings. But when he learnt what was happening…

A silence. Not even Nyx broke it, a thoughtful look in her eyes, somewhere far from either Dwyer or Kiragi ; her hand was resting under her throat, catching a trembling breath she couldn’t hold. 

\- He didn’t even know why dad was ill. I am not even sure he knew it, or knew anything about hanaki. But he came and swore to be there for dad, to help him, because… because… he could not lose him. 

Another coughing fit shaked Dwyer, and Kiragi’s hand refused to let go of him. 

\- That’s why dad survived. Because he was wrong, thinking that father would never look at him, and never love him. 

Nyx let out a thoughtful noise, half a smile dancing on her lips.

\- This explain some things I discussed with the Crown Prince of Nohr, then. But this does not save Dwyer’s life. Beautiful story, truly, but..  
\- But maybe Dwyer is wrong like my dad was wrong. Maybe the person he loves would love him back. 

A tremor was shaking Kiragi’s hand, a fear that was creeping under his skin. A fear that was as much hope as it was cold sweat dripping in the back of the sick. 

\- Please, Dwyer, tell me so I can help you…?  
\- Romance is dead, if it blooms in spit and vomit, suddenly joked the butler, his voice so raw it could bleed. 

There was so much hope in Kiragi’s voice, so much light and hope. Hope that he could help. Hope that there was something he could do. And that, that was a lot more than he ever expected from the prince (so different from what he was taught ; the deep soreness of a love crossed by ranks, a love that could not be said, but without flowers and only the bitter taste of a tea steeped too long). 

\- I see, prince. I hope for you that your prey is ready. If I am needed, I am sure you will be able to find me. 

A soft smile danced on her lips, sad and far away from either of them. 

\- After all, I was sick once, and I saved myself. But you showed me another story today, and I hope this one will be written without my hand. 

She turned and left, with a soft wave of her hand. Dwyer took some of the petals and flowers between his fingers, while Kiragi contemplated the awful mess all around his bed. The warmth of his palm was irradiating on his shoulder, an almost too much, almost too little. The prince trailed his eyes from the floor to the petals in his hands. 

\- Poppies are probably better when not covered in drool and blood, he said with a raspy laugh.  
\- We can find some for your crush after you tell me who it is, so I can help you tell them about your feelings.

The idea of presenting a bouquet of poppies to the one he loved was… 

(he wished he thought of it as hilarious, but poppies in hands stained by blood and guts, rough, vibrant red and green and black against skin - it made for a lovely, lovely picture)

\- In all honesty…  
\- Please ?  
\- … I don’t know how it isn’t obvious is what I was going to say, Kiragi.   
\- Oh uh hm sorry ! But.. it… it is kind of not… obvious… 

Dwyer tilted his head and rubbed his throat, with gentle and shaking movements. The itchiness, while present, was not heralding another waterfall of flowers. Nothing was stopping him from just… revealing the truth. Telling Kiragi everything. 

Words were harder to find than they had any rights to be.

\- But if you don’t want to tell me you can, I don’t want to force you, I just thought…  
\- It’s you. 

That stopped Kiragi, who looked at him owlishly, eyes blinking slowly. 

\- Oh.

A beat, and Dwyer rubbed at the corner of his mouth, tongue still heavy with the awful taste of his sickness. 

\- Not quite what you…  
\- That will be easy then. 

The warmth in his voice was nothing compared to the warmth of his embrace. 

(and if Kiragi laughed after kissing him, chaste and sweet, not even complaining about the sick taste of his skin, well, maybe it was just even better)


End file.
